Page 78 of Unraveled By the Duke
“It could just as easily be a woman as a man in this particular arena, Your Grace,” Wainwright said smoothly.
“And you have no idea who it is? What am I paying you for, man?” Alexander scoffed.
“To look after your name and defeat those who want to drag it through the mud. But the one I am up against has resources that I do not.”
Alexander saw someone emerging from the house and strode away across the lawn. After a moment’s hesitation, Wainwright followed him.
“Then I should be employing them, not you. They are clearly your superior,” Alexander muttered.
“Now, yes. But I will win. Believe me, I will find who conspires against you and bring them down,” Wainwright declared, a note of determination in his voice.
Alexander liked it. This man was pivotal to the success of his plans.
“You said that they had resources you didn’t,” Alexander murmured as they stepped onto a path that wound between towering rhododendrons on either side.
“I did. But you can change that, Your Grace,” Wainwright said carefully, “if you wish success in this venture.”
“How much?” Alexander asked impatiently, seeing a lady and a gentleman walking arm in arm towards them.
Wainwright named a figure that made his eyebrows rise to his hairline.
The American looked back calmly and shrugged. “It is an expensive business, changing people’s minds. Many have already made up their minds about you. I did a good job on that score, remember?”
Alexander held back a scowl and forced a smile. “I know what I asked you to do and why I did it. You will get your money. I expect this gossip to be utterly quashed.”
He returned to the house, feeling disgruntled. The lady and gentleman who had passed him in the garden had barely spared him a glance, exchanging the most perfunctory of pleasantries. Wainwright had left with a pointed look in their direction.
His message was clear—some had accepted the Duke and Duchess of Cheverton, some had not.
It took Alexander some time to find Celia and Violet in the throng that seemed to have thickened since he had stepped outside.
Sweat dampened his face by the time he found them on the third floor, examining some portraits. He stopped in the doorway, letting the crowd flow by him.
Celia was talking animatedly, gesturing to the painting. Violet’s responses were just as enthusiastic. Alexander caught a glimpseof his wife’s face. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes were bright as stars. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead, darkening her hairline. It reminded him of how she had looked when they had made love.
That thought stirred an odd mix of rough desire and tenderness.
Enough tenderness that it put him on his guard.
He wanted to look away, but he could not. She drew him in like a magnet. He could accept the desire, but not the tenderness. Desire was a primal emotion, driven by base urges. Tenderness came from love, and he wanted no part of it.
“A fine woman you have there, Cheverton,” said a man who stepped up to his side.
Alexander turned to find the Duke of Westminster, a man older than him and statesmanlike with silver running through his dark hair.
He inclined his head. “Thank you for the compliment, Westminster.”
“I’m not one to dabble in gossip, but I’ve heard rumors about you that I do not like. I’m glad to see they are not true,” Westminster admitted. “Your wife is a delight. I don’t know her family, but she is a credit to them.”
Alexander felt a surge of pride at the praise.
She is my wife, and she is well regarded. My wife.
“The two of you should join us for luncheon some time soon. I will send you a card.”
The Duke of Westminster moved on, and Alexander turned his attention back to his wife. She was looking at him. Her eyes held his with the irresistible force of gravity.
At that moment, he realized that he had no right to take pride in the praise he had been given by one of his peers. Because the praise was unearned. She was not his wife, not in any real sense. It was all false.
